Chapter 2 - THE GRIP OF A HUNTED MAN
The response was instant, violent, and silent.
The man’s eyes snapped open—two sharp, piercing gray discs blazing through the grime on his face. In a single blur of movement, his right hand shot up like an iron clamp, snatching Sofia’s small wrist before she could pull back.
His grip was incredibly strong, yet he didn't crush her bones. He held her fixed in place, his chest heaving under his tattooed ribs as his eyes darted wildly around the stacked scrap metal, scanning the sky, the shadows, and the perimeter fencing.
Sofia froze, her breath catching in her throat, but she didn't cry out. She looked down at her wrist held in his thick, scarred fingers, then directly into his bloodshot eyes.
"Sir?" she repeated, her voice remarkably steady for a child caught in the grasp of a giant. "You're bleeding."
The man’s throat worked as he swallowed dryly, his breathing heavy, ragged, and shallow. He looked at her faded beige hoodie, her dusty sneakers, her small size, and the oversized canvas scrap bag resting three feet away.
"Don't call them," he rasped, his voice sounding like two grinding stones.
Sofia tilted her head slightly, her long dark ponytail shifting over her shoulder. "Who?"
Before the man could answer, a deep, guttural vibration shuddered through the earth beneath them.
It started as a distant, low rumble—the heavy, unbaffled roar of large V-twin motorcycle engines echoing off the metal mountains of the recycling yard. Within seconds, the sound was joined by the screeching tires and heavy diesel engine idle of dark pickup trucks pulling through the open chain-link gate at the front entrance.
Bright halogen headlights swept across the scrap yard, cutting through the purple twilight in blinding white beams.
The light flickered across the rusted appliances, casting giant, distorted shadows against the scrap piles.
The man’s grip on Sofia’s wrist tightened by a fraction of an inch—not out of aggression, but out of a sudden, deep, instinctual jolt of pure dread. His eyes widened, his broad jaw clenching so hard the muscles pulsed along his neck.
Sofia looked over her shoulder toward the main aisle of the yard.
Through the gaps between two crushed sedans, she saw three heavy black pickup trucks rumble to a stop, accompanied by four low-slung, blacked-out motorcycles. Men were climbing out of the truck beds—large, intimidating adults wearing dark jeans, combat boots, and black leather riding vests.
Sofia’s eyes drifted from the approaching men back down to the man’s left wrist.
The gold watch on his arm glistened under the distant sweep of headlights: a serpent wrapped around a crown.
May you like
Then she looked at the back of the leather vest worn by the closest biker standing twenty yards away in the main aisle.
Embroidered across his back in thick gold and black thread was the exact same emblem: a giant coiling serpent wrapped around a royal crown, flanked by the words CROWN SERPENTS MC.
